Thursday, September 2, 2010

One Less Moaning Groan

The other day, I received an invitation to my 10-year high school reunion on Facebook, which felt to me like the equivalent of a group of Eskimos approaching me with rope, preparing to lash me to an ice floe and send me out to sea. I ultimately accepted the invite, but the damage had been done. Since that day, I have been aggressively looking back to figure out just what happened.

When did I get so old? It seems like only yesterday that I was in college. Or high school. Or even junior high school. And now I'm more than 4 years out of college and 10 years out of high school. Holy Jesus. By the time I finish this post, I'll probably be fifty years old (longest blog post EVAR!) that's how fast time seems to be going these days.

Through all of this inner reflection, I have been able to recall instances of being younger, and looking at my parents (and older folk in general) as they let loose that standard moan: "what's become of music these days? Remember (name I didn't know)? And what about (name that I may have heard once, somewhere)? Whatever happened to them!? Kids just listen to crap these days." This often happened whenever I'd have command over the family radio or CD player and would pop in the latest boy band or whatever to dance in-the-closet-ly along to.

And I would roll my eyes at these adults. Thinking: what do they know? Now That's What I Call Music volume 8 is the shit! Long live Marilyn Manson, Nine Inch Nails, Tool, Korn and everyone else! (I had a very, very eclectic taste in music, mind you. No one else had mix tapes (yes, tapes. STFU). That would jump from N*Sync's "Bye Bye Bye" to Type-O Negative's "Too Deep: Frozen." Then again, no one else was regularly sent to the school counselor either, but I digress.)

And then I began to get older. But, as I aged, I found my musical taste expanding along with what was on the radio, or at the clubs. I was aware of new musical upstarts auto-tuning themselves onto the scene. And I began to think: will I ever become like those old folks from my childhood? Could I possible be proof that you can ALWAYS be with it? I mean, I was in it! I knew Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears and Katy Perry and all of them! And I was able to get down to their tunes as much as I was able to boogie with Back Street Boys, 98 Degrees, Boyz II Men, Another Bad Creation and all the other pop crap I grew up devouring.

But then something must have happened. Or maybe it was happening all along. Because today I find myself in the exact same place of my former elders. I only first heard of Miley Cyrus when Party in the USA was released. I didn't know that The Jonas Brothers came out of the same Disney musical pop star factory, or that they had started with their own show.

Disney Lab Unveils Its Latest Line Of Genetically Engineered Child Stars

But you know what? It's fine. It's okay that I'm not "with" these latest pop sensations. They leave me alone, and I leave them alone. We are co-existing peacefully and will let bygones be bygones. Except for one. One single tween star has been coming on my radar over and over, despite my efforts to ignore him every single day.

And that girl is Justin Bieber.

You probably know more about Justin than I do. My one experience seeing him performing would be from New Year's Eve this past year, where he performed in a cast out in LA in the later hour of Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin' Eve. I don't know why he had a cast, and I didn't really care for him all that much. I also was too busy (thankfully) attending to my boyfriend's skyrocketing fever and mysterious flu-like illness that overtook him. I am actually jealous, as I imagine the hallucinations that stemmed as a result of the fire in his brain were probably more on key, and less elvish in appearance.

To be honest, I think I know more about Justin Bieber's fans (known as "Beliebers") than I know about the superstar himself. From what I think I understand, he got his start on YouTube. He is canadian. People think he looks like a lesbian. He got pegged in the head with a water bottle a few weeks ago. He is already working on a biopic and a biography (I, unlike others, will not fault him, as I have written two "biographies" already and I've been alive twice as long as he.) And that is it! Is there more to him? Maybe!

Now, what do I know about the Beliebers? Oh, plenty. For one, they can't spell. At all. For two, they are VICIOUS, PROFANE, and MURDEROUS. I'm serious. Just pop his name into a Twitter search bar. The results are gorier than a Friday the 13th movie festival. They have invaded Twitter like a swarm of locusts, and tweet and re-tweet each other every other minute, imploring the Biebster to follow them. Why? What will him following do for you, exactly? He's still not going to sleep with you. Or talk to you. He's too busy cutting singles with Usher and other misguided stars who are trying to lash their dying corpses to his poprocket.

These Beliebers are also on the warpath against the Jonas Brothers, who have their own set of frothing fangirls. Epic battles between Beliebers and Jonas Buckeroos (I made that nickname up, not sure if Jonas fans have a convenient pseudonym for their crew) occur every single day. And it is because of these Beliebers, and the penning of the term "Bieber Fever" that I am faced down with this sprite that shares my name every single god damn day.

Justin, meet me at camera two: I know we have the same name. I know you're a big shit superstar. I'm sure your music is just wonderful to girls with not-yet-fully-formed ears. I am sure that you work hard, and ride your segway hard. But please, please, PLEASE go hide out somewhere for a while. I can't stand these fanatics. And I can't stand hearing about you every day.

A few weeks ago, Pink put herself in a slingshot at a concert outside of the US and an accident occurred, flinging her off the stage and into a barricade. If I had not been staring at Twitter THAT moment, I never would have known she had almost died. Meanwhile, I think the dog that is leashed outside of my office was telling a stop sign about that water bottle that slammed into your noggin. That's just plain wrong.

I am beginning to think that there is only one cure for Bieber fever, and it is the same as used for killing vampires: stake the girls through the heart, cleave off their head and stuff it with garlic cloves. And you know what? If that works, then I am all for this alternative (and classic!) treatment.

Justin Bieber has crossed the line from talentless jerkoff to talentless jerkoff whose every single jerk off is reported by every media outlet, every day. He dominates the Twitter trending topics, replacing  VALUABLE trending topics like this blog of photos of owls that look like they are hung over. And it doesn't look like it's going to be improving any. Lord knows if the Beliebers don't get me, their pedophile mothers will. For christ sakes, Justin just sold out Madison Square Garden yesterday. And if I am to believe the review I read in the Times, Justin is just starting to grasp what sex on his penis might feel like, and so he will be flirting with girls and driving them all the wilder.

Justin Bieber makes me pine for Jonas Brothers with their chastity rings, and Miley Cyrus with her penchant for turning into a superstar country idol when she is sleeping. It makes me wish for Boyz II Men and Bel Biv Davoe and Another Bad Creation when they all came together to perform "Motown Philly". (And don't even think about reminding me that Boyz II Men actually came out and performed with Bieber last night. That hurts more than anything.)

And then I wonder: when did music get so bad? What are these crazy kids getting themselves into? And then I feel old, just like my parents probably did. And that makes me hate Justin even more.

It's either that Justin, or this Justin. But, seeing how pop stars usually age, I imagine that if I bide my time and sit silently, Justin will be doing coke and coming out of limos in skirts with no panties in no time. And then this generation will be able to feel the same shame and embarrassment that mine does when we see Joey Fatone hosting soon-to-be-canceled singing competitions.

And that will be the sweetest revenge of all.

J: The Other White Justin

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